


One Man's Dream

by darrus



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, Mysticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 14:56:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1862073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darrus/pseuds/darrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people believe that amulets can keep dreams alive</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Man's Dream

It was Daniela who bought a dreamcatcher. 

Silly little thing, ringing and clacking softly in response to every little breath of air, it hangs at the kitchen window - and looks oddly misplaced. Dreamcatcher. In the kitchen. What dream is there to catch but the celluloid illusions of melodramas from the TV screen?

Daniela has bought it at the market just out of town, in a colorful tent decorated with flags, where an elderly Chinese man in red hat with golden bells is selling amulets and lucky charms. Everyday, from eight till eight, selling happiness at a price everyone can afford.

Daniela doesn't say how much exactly it has cost - but then again, he didn't even properly ask, not deeming the little thing worth more than a passing glance. She wanted to have it, she decided to hang it in the kitchen and sure it was alright with him and no, he doesn't mind the sound. Constant gentle chiming, a clear sound of glass kissing the metal.

It is beautiful in a way. Golden-like metal tubes on the chains, and more delicate chains holding glass beads, different shapes and sizes, distinctly hand-made. The glass is transparent, clean, not tainted with anything, even with paint. Only the main bead, disk-like in shape, is different. There is a color, a drop of red, swirling in long tendrils inside the globe. Like a cranberry juice in a thick syrup. Like blood.

 

On the window the dreamcatcher is chiming, and it seems to him the only source of sound is the red color that is caught inside the glass. Slow, relaxed rhythm is fascinating and catching, calling to dance, to move, to smile.

 

And the life goes on.

The changes that come upon are invisible - at first. Invisible for so long, in fact, that they become irreversible long before they are noted.

But in hindsight every sign is plain to see. And if it's too late - more's the pity.

 

And all is fair in love and war, as the old adage hasn't lost it's meaning despite the wear and tear it endures. All is fair.

Fair - to take the other's phone and read the messages, there's nothing incriminating to find in them anyway. Coming unannounced to the training grounds - only fair. Jürgen is standing there, on the pitch. Only windcheater on, no heavy jacket, and the wind tries to rip the cloth off his shoulders - it's still winter. Jürgen is smiling when he sees him. He used to chide him for being careless, possibly drawing attention. Not anymore. These days Jürgen just smiles and waves to him - and turns his attention back to training.

He is sitting on a wooden bench and waiting. Flags and the wind, wood under his palms, shouts from the field... He wishes it was routine, but the truth is - it is so rarely he sits like that Jürgen has no reason to scold him. This - this isn't fair.

Their everyday life still demands too much - from both.

 

And one thing that is almost odd is that Jürgen doesn't dream. He's admitted it once, with a smile almost wistful.

'I can't recall the last time I've remembered any of my dreams'.

Maybe it is because the woman Jürgen lives with is so unlike Daniela, and there is no dreamcatcher on Jürgen's window to catch a dream inside the glass.

And though they sleep together - spend nights together - not enough times over the year, he wonders if Jürgen's dreams these nights would be of him - or... not him?

And then he assures himself that it's rubbish, and too much time for idle thinking has never done anyone any good.

 

On the kitchen window dreamcatcher is chiming, making him feel easier. Relaxed. Calm.

 

And then the fine cord snaps once, suddenly, seemingly by its own volition. The beads of glass scatter across the floor, breaking in pieces, each piece a sparkling crystal, like dew under the sunlight. Thin chains and golden tubes lie in heap, and in the silence the roar of cars outside is suddenly deafeningly loud.

And the rhythm is suddenly different, more frantic, upbeat. It's the clock that is ticking on the wall, now without rival the only sound that dictates pace. The clock is ticking, urging him on, «be quick», «be quick», «be-quick» - «bequickbequickbequick», the clockwork life where there's no time, never enough time.

 

At the outskirts of Freiburg old Chinese man in red hat with round golden bells is selling happiness to everyone who wants to buy it. People pass by, hurrying - there's no time, never enough time...

\- I need a dreamcatcher.

Dark eyes look through him and past him.

\- Which one do you want?

Old man looks like a figure from old eastern paintings, skin of yellow-brown shade like ancient silk upon which some skillful hand has painted a mysterious image.

\- How would I know? Sell me my happiness, dealer.

The man doesn't smile. His face is grave and maybe a bit sad - if it's not the imagination. Either he doesn't think the matter merits any jokes, or doesn't understand what the joke was about - if it was. Without hurry he reaches under the shelves and starts searching for something, and soft sounds accompany him when he touches another one of the many trinkets he sells.

\- There, - speaks the man finally. In his hands golden tubes and chains are glittering under the low winter sun, and in the disk-like transparent bead a swirl or red looks exactly like blood.

\- It's yours, - says the man while he is frozen in surprise - and he's not sure it's a pleasant feeling.

\- It's yours, - repeats the man, and the bells on his hat chime in unison when he nods his head in affirmation, as if it will somehow make his point clearer.

Simply an old Chinese man in a weird hat, surrounded with his silly amulets.

He shakes his head and looks straight at the seller. No, he never was superstitious, and it's too late to start now.

He reaches for his wallet.

The man looks at him with the same strangely knowing look and shakes his head no.

He leaves the ten-euro note on the table.

The wind, just as he turns to leave, blows it away. Banknote, just a colorful piece of paper, falls down to the pavement, wind catches it and carries it on and on and on...

The seller doesn't seem to notice. And as for him - he doesn't care.

 

Dreamcatcher is chiming on a kitchen window. Every small movement, every breath of air is enough to bring the intricate construction to life. Soft gentle sound is a constant companion, day by day, the sound that never is too tiresome.

 

And Jürgen calls him and says ‘my dearest’, and he smiles and thinks to himself: ‘my treasure’. And it fills him with quiet happiness. Sure of the more important thing – ‘my treasure’. ‘Mine’.

 

In the kitchen Daniela is crying - softly, without sound.


End file.
